


If I Could Open My Arms

by moments



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, New York City, i kinda like this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 16:57:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1695659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moments/pseuds/moments
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis drives a cab and Harry is late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Could Open My Arms

**Author's Note:**

> !!!
> 
> ok this is my second fic about transportation in new york clearly this shows i have some weird unconscious love for my city that i didnt know about.
> 
> YEAH so the idea for this came to me at school one day and i wrote more than half of it on a piece of graph paper in class hahahah okay cool
> 
> title from death cab for cutie's marching bands of manhattan

Harry's late. He's late, and Niall's going to kill him, and he needs a taxi.

He's standing on the corner of 93rd and Central Park West, watching the beginning colors of the sunset cast a glow on the rich glass laden buildings up and down the avenue. It's probably useless. He's standing on goddamn Central Park West expecting to catch a cab.

The air has only just turned to spring, and Harry can see the buds of blooming flowers stretching high toward the sky on the trees around him. The weather is a lot different from England. New York wears its humidity proudly, and the spring rain never seems to end.

Niall’s done shows nearly everywhere, flown to Japan and back to Europe within a day, but of all shows to invite Harry to; it had to be New York. It’s not that Harry doesn’t like the city; he just thinks he prefers being somewhere he can lose his jacket.

He's stepping further into the street with his arm outstretched, and silently wishing Niall to the ends of the earth when a cab finally swerves out of the middle lane and pulls to a stop so abruptly Harry jumps back onto the sidewalk.

The cab driver rolls down his window and leans slightly forward to fix his gaze on Harry, who has to lean closer to get a good look at the guy’s pushed back sandy colored hair (that's falling down from the April humidity), and eyes the color of rain. The light has gone red by now, and Harry is still late. The cab driver raises his eyebrows and sits back.

"You gonna get in or can I be on my way or what?" Harry notices the fading British accent, and the way he speaks playfully rather than with annoyance and the tell-tale sign that being a taxi driver wasn't exactly what he'd planned. Harry takes two steps off the curb, and slides into the cab.

"Where to?" The driver asks, meeting Harry's eyes in the rearview mirror. They hold a gentle sort of kind glow that Harry wishes all of New York could have.

"I-uh. Madison Square Garden. If you know where that is. I reckon I have the address somewhere," Harry stammers, fumbling in his pockets for the piece of paper he knows Niall gave him before leaving earlier that day.

The driver laughs, a sound that's a little too loud and holds just the right kind of warmth to fill the cab. “No worries, mate. I know where the Garden is.”

They’re still sitting at the red light, and no matter how many times Harry checks his phone, the time doesn’t seem to change. It’s like something about the moment of sitting in the cab with a stranger that seems like it needs to be important. Harry buckles his seatbelt just as the light changes, and the driver hits the gas pedal.

While they’re speeding down Central Park West, Harry lets his eyes fall on the driver’s license taped to the glass divider with a name that reads _Louis Tomlinson_. Harry wants to say it out loud, wants to hear the way it rolls off his tongue.

They drive in silence for two miles. Harry watches the New York scenery in all its beautiful blurs as they drive downtown; and he watches Louis. Harry notices the way he taps a single finger in rhythm against the steering wheel in time with the pop song on the radio. He leans forward enough to watch the way Louis sets his hands to fumble with the radio, and pushes his hair out of his eyes while they’re stopped at red lights. Harry knows he’d never be able to pull off any of the little things Louis does with such finesse. Beautiful things will be beautiful, he figures.

When the light goes green, Louis steps on the gas and speeds their way down the avenue. He’s doing the best he can, but there’s nothing either of them can do when they end up wedged between cars at Columbus Circle.

“It’s usual, you know,” Louis says from the front seat. Harry’s confused.

“What is?”

“The fifty car backup thing. Happens all the time.”

“Oh, yeah. New York will be New York, I guess,” Harry gives a nervous laugh, focusing his gaze out the window at the crowded streets full of people and flowers and cement. He smiles.

“You know what this means though, right?”

“Um- I guess not?”

Louis shifts around in his seat, leaning forward slightly to meet Harry’s eyes in the small window of space in the glass divider. “Well, the higher the bill, the higher the tip, as they say.”

“Who says that?” Harry mocks playfully. They’re inches from each other, and Harry can see the way the sun is just barely casting a line of light across the top of Louis’ head.

“Anyone with an inch of sense, really.”

Harry’s not sure how to respond, so he busies himself with looking out the window. The traffic seems to be collapsing into itself even more every time he glances outside, and Louis can see it too. He can see the nervousness and antsy look in Harry’s eyes when he notices the time.

“You’re not from around here are you?” Louis asks, meeting Harry’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

Harry smiles, blushing slightly. “How’d you know?”

“Not like the accent is a dead giveaway or anything,” Louis says, mouth spreading into a slow grin.

“You don’t exactly sound American yourself,” Harry points out wryly.

“Hey!” Louis exclaims. Harry can see his grin in the reflection against the windshield. “I’m very much a New Yorker, thanks.”

“I’m from England. My best mate-Niall-is like part of a band and stuff, which is why I’m here. I dunno, New York is nice.”

“Madison Square Garden, then? That’s huge.”

“Yeah I know. It’s something he’s always wanted to do. We were in a band in college, but. Things just kind of took off for him,” Harry says, hoping Louis can see him shrug from the backseat.

“What about you though?” Louis looks at Harry in the rearview mirror again. “What are your big plans if you let him run off without you?”

Harry laughs, loud and clear enough for him to slap a hand over his mouth in embarrassment. “He didn’t really run off without me. I go to a lot of his shows, I pick him up from parties when he gets too pissed to stand. I guess I wanted to be someone at some point, but it was more his dream than mine.”

Louis turns to face him, and furrows his eyebrows in confusion. Harry knows he’s probably said too much, but some bit of him doesn’t ever want to stop talking to Louis.

“Well, I want to know what your dream is,” Louis tells him, sounding sure of his words.

“I,” Harry pauses for a moment, not sure of what to say. He did want to sing. He wanted to sing the strings off guitars and inspire everyone, including himself. “I guess I wanted to be a performer too. It was just harder for me. Lots of weird personal stuff.” He looks at his hands and runs a finger over the fraying bracelets positioned on his wrist. “What about you though? S’a bit hard to believe you always dreamed of being a taxi driver.”

Louis smiles something fond, and says, “I wanted to sing too.”

“No joke?”

“I really did. There was just always a lot going on at home what with a full house of too many siblings and too much housework and I don’t know. Just got a bit lost in the mess.”

Harry knows. He knows too well, and is scared to say anything that might disturb the silence ringing in both of their ears. They’re still not moving, and when Harry checks his phone, it’s only been three minutes. He’s taken taxis before, New York and London alike, but never really talked to any of the drivers that weren’t Louis. All he’s ever expected is the cynicism of the city that seems to bury inside of everyone.

There’s something to be said about New York – something bigger than the skyscrapers themselves. Harry’s never been able to put his finger on it, no matter how much time he spends with the concrete, but he thinks it could be something about the way Louis looks at him when he’s faced away from the traffic.

“You know, you could come with me to the show,” Harry proposes, quickly breaking the silence. He regrets the words as soon as they’re out, and spreads his finger across a break in the cushioning of the seats. Anything but looking at Louis’ eyes where he knows they’re on him in the mirror.

Louis almost laughs, and Harry can hear when he bites it back instead of letting the warm sound fill the cab. “You know I can’t. Lots of cab driving to be done, and such.”

“No yeah, of course. Just thought I’d offer since you said all that about music and—yeah, I don’t know actually. Sorry, just sort of slipped out.”

When Harry looks back up, Louis has turned to face him, and is smiling. “I would if I could, you know.”

“Maybe some other time,” Harry offers, even though they both know there won’t be another time.

Louis’ eyes are a bit more powerful than the traffic, and Harry hardly realizes when Louis steps on the gas pedal and they’re on the road again. He rests an elbow on the window of space separating the two of them, and runs a hand through his hair. Louis swings them around Columbus Circle and turns down Seventh Avenue.

They’re stopped by a red at 54th street, and Harry focuses on the way Louis drums his fingers against the wheel instead of the nagging thought that they’ve only got moments left together before they’re both needed in different places.

When he looks up they’re pulling past Macy’s, the shape of the arena just barely visible a block away. Harry sends a wish for there to be more traffic. He looks out and up towards the sky and begs anyone who might be up there to stop the cars for just a little while longer.

No one grants his wish. Louis pulls over in front of the arena and hits a few buttons on his fancy cab machines. When there’s nothing but the blinking numbers of a price on the meter, he turns around.

“So that’s $32.50. S’what you get for taking a cab at this time. Cash or credit?” Louis asks, smiling fondly.

“Cash. And don’t think I’ll forget the tip,” Harry responds, reaching into his pocket for his wallet.

“You know, I’d not have you pay this much if I was making some other sort of income but,” Louis shrugs, “I’ve got a living to make too. It was really nice talking to you, though.”

Harry pulls out two twenties and stretches them flat before reaching to the window and laying them in Louis’ hand.

“Don’t suppose there’s some way we could speak again is there?” Harry asks. It’s daring for him, and he’s not really sure why he asked. Things like this hardly ever work out for him.

Louis just grins, almost sadly so, and waves Harry out of the cab. “Go, your friend is waiting.”

The thing is, he doesn’t want to leave. He wants to spend the next lifetime inside cabs with people that are Louis. There are a million people in a city as vast as this one, and Harry wants to think it’s something like fate that put them in a car together.

Harry gets out of the cab, and when he turns back around, Louis has already driven away. He checks his phone one last time. Niall's going to be furious.

**Author's Note:**

> if you talk to me on twitter @disasterstyles ill probably kiss you


End file.
